beatnik blues

Halloween Troubles.

2006-10-15T17:41:00.000-04:00

So my friend James is going to be taking me some big gay Halloween party the last weekend of the month-roughly a week and a half away-and I need a costume. It's been about ten years since I actually bothered doing the costume bit for the day, so I'm a little rusty when it comes to actually picking a damn costume.

So understandably, I'm in the dark. I need something workable-something that would survive a night of dancing (very very bad dancing) and heavy drinking (very very heavy drinking) without being a big mess. I also don't plan on spending a fucking ton on it either-much better for the booze in any case.

Ok. There's my problem. Now fix it.

Back.

2006-10-14T17:42:00.000-04:00

It's no big deal.

Don't go jumping all over the place. You'll break something, if not someone.

I miss the place, that's all. Simple as it is.

I'll start with something real tonight.

Hey.

2006-04-03T00:16:00.000-04:00

I am a man with advanced ideas on life.

Not just ideas...advanced ideas.

Fancy feast like a motherfucker over here.

A visit to Craigslist Part 2.

2006-03-21T15:08:00.001-05:00

"...remember, wear a hoody for your woody." Good to see creative people still exist.

"Looking for Lambchop lookalike!" It's not a song. It just never ends.

"Sometimes you feel like a nut..." He wasn't selling candy bars.

"Do you or someone you know have 'Meth Mouth'?"" Good God, I sure hope not.

"Bust a nut!" Sounds like a new video game involving squirrels.

"...who wants a bj before 1pm today!" Wow. Now that's service.

Pussy Hairs.

2006-03-20T21:40:00.000-05:00

Might be starting something new.
Different.
Out of my element on this one.
For so long I've dealt with the bottom of the barrel, the brain dead, the lazy, the incompetent, the true face of the middle classed working man. Picking up stuff, putting it on a truck, taking it off the truck, putting it down.
"Hey, how are ya?"
"Gee, thanks."
"Right here would be great."
"Please, watch the floors."
"You see her ass, man?"
"She had little pussy-hairs in her bathtub."
Might be moving on. To the...downtown. One World Financial. Big shit huh? Not in the bit. mail-room duties. Decent wages. After hours, I ain't doing no dress-code tango. Jeans, black t-shirt, and be happy I even showed up. I hope this will open something new up in my third eye. A new porno-rag to come across from. "Stories from the Office".
I am sickened already.
Stay tuned. Or tune out. Your call.

Fic: Season Beats

2006-03-17T15:03:00.000-05:00

Season Beats

I can hear the gentle rustling of the chains on the swings. It’s a last call for a mean winter. Not going quietly into that good night, and you have to admire that.
The freedom of the day is still in the air, finding new life in the night’s breeze. Telling tales of games of tag, long lines at the slides, found adventure in the jungle gym; of happy children. The brilliant unapologetic song of youth. It’s beautiful; though, symphonic as it is; its mere background noise compared to you. Watching you move, dancing away on the moon’s time-past the benches and towards the trees. I’ve got all my life to be with you, and it’s nowhere near enough.
What are you smiling at, you ask me. If I tried to form the answer with words, it’d never work. I’d end up breaking down, falling on my knees and screaming to the skies, You. You. You. Loud and totally un-bashful thanks to the lords above. For the time I’ve been graced with you in my life. So I skip the words, failingly as they usually are, and move to you. My arms around you, lips to yours, I fall into our love. Moving to the beat of a new season finding it’s footing, and of an old one passing on.

Breakfast Pondering.

2006-03-15T23:33:00.000-05:00

Person #1: Where do you think clouds go when they die?

Person #2: Shut up and eat your oatmeal.

One more.

2006-03-15T17:35:00.000-05:00

One more reason to hate myself.

www.myspace.com/abeatnikboy

FIC: Curtain Up

2006-03-08T10:49:00.000-05:00

I’m looking over him, clocking the seconds as the drool slides down his face. He was good. Better than the last one. Last one was boring. Read one of those sex books, I bet. Dull. Unsurprising. This one…he was good. It will be better then the last. Too quick, the last one. I’ll take my time with this one. Self-control always; must remember that.

He’s pretty. Asleep, he’s pretty. Awake he’s boring. Talking abut fashion, celebrities, drinking, television. Vapid, weak minded fag. He needs this. Should have gotten it long ago. How has he lasted so long? Shows the sad state of this planet. Someone like him can live and even prosper; another fly on the country’s fecal-line. He needs me to do what’s right. I am needed here.

I wonder if he’s dreaming.

It’s quick. It’s always quick, no matter how long it takes. Her eyes go from the hum of sleep, to the dreary lust once he sees me slip on top of him. That same dreary lust that goes to alarm once the light finally catches my face and he sees it. Sees the future of my actions in the blank, unfeeling features. Horror now, as my hands grip his throat. He attempts to pull them away, but can’t reach-I’ve trapped his shoulders under my knees, the pressure making his upper body useless.

Now it really begins. The “worth it all” moment where his eyes open up. A show, really. One that Broadway could never produce, that could never be projected on a theater near you. All that makes you human, or inhuman, none of it is hidden once that clock starts running out on your life. When the breath is rung from your neck like a farm animal; and you know, that it’s done. Your presence will no longer soil the planet. I am not ashamed to admit my excitement when watching it happen. The blood rushing towards my penis, erecting it for the moment. Lovely. It grows bigger and stronger while his face mirrors the polar opposite. His lush red cheeks turn white, limbs weaken, and finally his struggles end. All the while, the show goes on. It must, you know. True love, experience, career goals, the drive to survive, sex; all the thing’s he’ll never see/do/feel.

Orgasm.

The curtain drops. His show is over. I let go of the fleshy mold that used to be his neck. I wish I could tell you that there is some pause in me. A point where I can fully enjoy the work done, in quiet solace. But I can’t. I never can. Even before it was over with this one, I was already contemplating the next. The next gratifying show.

Ash Wednesday (On Thursday)

2006-03-02T20:00:00.000-05:00

Ash Wednesday was yesterday. I love Ash Wednesday. Those little black dots really help with spotting all the stupid and gullible people walking around.

What?

2006-02-13T12:49:00.000-05:00

The difference between what is, and what can never be is simple. What is; is never enough.

Inkless.

2006-02-11T21:55:00.000-05:00

Not a great night. Not that great a day either. Matching drapes for the carpet. Did the usual "lets pass some more time away from our youth thing" with Mohamed. Getting harder and harder to deal with hiding my "cocksucker-ness" from him. Why should I care what some close-minded Arab thinks of me? Well, I've managed to be such a prick bastard to all the people who have or would ever consider getting close to me, so that particular close-minded Arab is one of the closest friends I have. Hell of a thing.

Whoever said that "getting it out" was helpful is a fucking cumgutter. I'm getting more and more depressed with each word.

Turns out, Steven has been keeping in touch with his ex. Says he still has feelings for him, and it's hard to let them good "just like that", so he's been "weeding" himself off him. He also says that he hasn't cheated on me, he just sees him once and awhile; to pick up mail, etc. Says I should trust him. He loves me. I'm the only one. You know this song.

Trust is a tough one for me. Everyone whose ever suppose to have cared for me, has treated me pretty horribly. The ones who aren't suppose to forget the bonds. The love. One car wreck you don't walk away from clean. Scar scab scar again. So trust is tough. And the fact that Steven has been lying to me ("only because I know you wouldn't understand, and would get upset") for weeks now; doesn't help matters.

So why the bother? What's the purpose of this inkless pondering? Because I'm damn sure that I love him. He makes me happy. There are times I lose myself just looking at him. His eyes, his smile, him.

So that's Saturday.

Underlined.

2006-02-07T17:30:00.000-05:00

Can you underline the words "Blah blah,"? Or do they fall under some kind of universal understanding that they are boring, dull, a Wednesday night in January? How can you make them exciting, titillating-said just to use "tit"-and refreshing to read? I don't want to break any rules.

why did I want to use them underlined, in the first place?
I didn't.

Found these wonderfully rusty blues songs that I'm wrapping around my lungs like so many perfect tobacco clouds. Feels good.

No smoking.
Got a match?

4.

2006-01-27T19:48:00.000-05:00

War drums in the distance.

Have I grown so perpetually sad and unhappy, that I don't see any other way to live? Has the blood been frozen in my heart from the chill of malice, lies, and unloving nature? And am I really willing to go on living like that? I have never been one to lie to myself. Therapy would never work on me, for I have no use for it's wares. I don't lie to myself. I know what I am capable of, I know what I am not. I know the reasons of the things many pay money to find out. I am both infinitely lucky and damned for this foresight.

I love someone, who loves me. I want to end ties with this person, because I am afraid. I don't want to be hurt. I am selfish, and ego driven. I want to be strong, but in this "cut and run" act, I am the total opposite. Weak, puny. Wrong. Have fallen so far that I shy away from the hands looking to stop my descent?

Tears, and yells. The asking, the pleading, the begging to fight. Open those eyes, arm myself, and go out into the great killing fields of love. Living to live.

War drums in the distance, and I'm not scared anymore. I will go on and fight for the love I want. The love I deserve.

Time to be without being afraid of being.

Thank you, Steven. Now I will make it up to you.

Question.

2006-01-24T10:41:00.000-05:00

Myspace.

What the hell is it? I have looked at some of these "pages"; branches of this new widely spread virus that has afflicted so many people that I would normally call bright, decent, and interesting.

What the hell can you do with it? Is it just the mindless flow of cell phone pictures, and empty asked "What kind of..." questions?

Heroin I can understand. Cocaine, in the main line. Myspace, I need a little help with.

Movie Night.

2006-01-20T22:47:00.000-05:00

Just finished watching a movie called "A Home At The End Of The World", and now I feel the need to write. I know if I tried to write anything of my own, it would be anything but. A mire "molding" of the ideas and feelings from the movie. So I'll just go ahead and talk about the movie.

But I'm not going to give you a summary. There are plenty of places that can do that for you, and much more aptly. Hard to beat that Mr. Google. Rather, I'll just talk a little about how the movie "touched" me. Of it's two larger schemed characters, I felt a great connection to myself. One being in need of a "someone" to love. The other, someone who isn't quite that capable of loving. I feel like I fit in both of these "shoes", and seeing it portrayed in such a way as it was in the film was really something. Needless to say, I've got that "thing" now. It's probably different for you, or maybe it's exactly the same. This...wanting of the film. Hard to describe...as if you're being puled away from the warmness and softness of your bed by the cold hands of the end of things-the credits in this case. This feeling which never grabs a hold of me while watching most of what Hollywood excretes these days, is very welcome in it's own painful way.

So watch the film, maybe it'll get you there, maybe it won't. You're probably as much like me as you're not.

A long ass tour.

2006-01-20T18:55:00.000-05:00

I'm the captain of my own ship.

I sail the sea of life-rough waters, untruthful sharks and all.

Idea.

2006-01-12T15:33:00.000-05:00

Lets start killing off these annoying little brats who refer to a Hollywood couple by a supposedly cute little compound title of the two names.

Nobody needs to save that much time in talking. Just refer to those dullards by their real names.

Oh, and the whole J-Lo, thing?

Stop it. Please, can't you see how fucking stupid you are making the rest of us Americans look?

Newsflash.

2006-01-10T15:54:00.000-05:00

Woman Dead Since 2003 Left Sitting at TV

CINCINNATI (Jan. 10) - The mummified body of a woman who didn't want to be buried was found in a chair in front of her television set 2 1/2 years after her death, authorities said.
Johannas Pope had told her live-in caregiver that she didn't want to be buried and planned on returning after she died, Hamilton County Coroner O'Dell Owens said Monday.
Pope died in August 2003 at age 61. Her body was found last week in the upstairs of her home on a quiet street. Some family members continued to live downstairs, authorities said. No one answered the doorbell at Pope's home Monday afternoon.

It could take weeks to determine Pope's cause of death because little organ tissue was available for testing, Owens said.
An air conditioner had been left running upstairs, and that allowed the body to slowly mummify, he said. The machine apparently stopped working about a month ago, and the body began to smell.
"Standing outside, one could smell death," Owens said.
Police went to the house last Wednesday after receiving a call from a relative who hadn't seen Pope in years. They found a staircase behind a door blocked by a basket and climbed to the second floor, where they found the body.
An air conditioner had been left running upstairs, and that allowed the body to slowly mummify.
It was not clear if any crimes were committed, Owens said.
Authorities did not identify the caregiver, a women in her 40s who apparently lived in the home with Pope, Pope's daughter and her 3-year-old granddaughter.
"The caregiver is not someone you'd think was from another planet or really seems off the wall - (she's) a pretty normal kind of person," he said. "But I think out of loyalty, friendship and love of her friend, (she) decided to keep the body at home."

I love it. Just think of all the possibilities. All the mummified folk just sitting back, waiting to awake. It's a glorious horror flick in the making.

Love.

2006-01-05T09:44:00.000-05:00

I love cigarettes.

Yummy yum yum.

Smoke smoke, inhale and smoke some more.

Do the locomotion.

Yum.

Debate

2006-01-03T21:02:00.000-05:00

"Keep fit and have fun."

Saw this on someones Live Journal just a few short moments ago. I don't like it.

The sheer balls of it. Something I normally admire, but exceptions are made to be found. Keep fit and have fun. What about the slobs? The obese? Those disgusting out of shape and "un-fit" animals we generously classify as humans? Who speaks for them?

Or the pissed. The mad. Those forever angered folks who punch the walls for no other reason then to show the knuckles who's boss? Who speaks for them?

My people. The Bastards.

Visit the troughs and be pissed.

Got Protection?

2006-01-03T20:30:00.000-05:00

Anyone can work to make themselves look presentable. Child's play. Tag you're it. But to work at a constant, shameful, un-presentable state of being; now that's tough! Tough but worth it. A pension that your Uncle Sammy can never touch. Torn. Frayed. These are the only shields you have against the world. Family crests be damned. Your unreliability, total and full of grime. It's the only thing that will keep you from being eaten alive by them. Chewed and swallowed by those who would trust, respect, and-sick enough-love you.

catch this

2006-01-03T15:28:00.000-05:00

How many drinks does it take to get to the center of a man? Tootsie you, Tootsie me. Drinking to forget is an interesting catch-22. You put yourself of this neat little coconut and wood raft, and build your river out of liquor; sailing yourself away and away from that beach or misery. But this is no message in the bottle. You never realize (at least till that sucker as been christened) that as wet as you might get, your feet never leave the sand. The burning, burning sand.

Fic: A Day in the Park

2005-12-24T18:40:00.000-05:00

A Day in the Park

Just two men on a park bench, smoking. Birds. Leaves. Trees. Children, playing. And across the street, the bank the two men plan on robbing.

“Whadda ya say, Frank? You ready for this?”

“Sure I am, Sam. It’s not that big a deal you know. People do it all the time.”

“I know, but I’m not people. I’m me. So lemme be a bit nervous, okay?”

“I’m not gonna stop you from being nervous. I’m just tying to stop you from making me nervous.”

“Yeah, yeah...where the fuck is Johnny?”

“Probably getting drunk.”

“What? What the fuck do you mean, ‘probably getting drunk’?”

“Well, when I talked to him this morning, he said he was getting antsy…”

“’Antsy?’”

“Better then nervous.” Frank continues, “ …anyways, he said he was getting ‘antsy’ so he was going to have a few drinks before he showed up.”

“Wait a fuckin’ minute. I thought you said he'd done this before?”

“Yea, he’s done it before. But apparently he always has a few drinks beforehand.”

“This is just great. We’ve got a fucking drunk driver operating the getaway car.”

“Hey, stop that shit, will-ya? You’re starting to piss me off now. Let’s just stay focused on the job, okay?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to stay focused on the fucking job, but then you go and tell me that the getaway man isn’t here yet cause he’s getting drunk. That doesn’t help much for my state of mind.”

“Okay, you start talking about the state of your mind, and you’re really gonna jinx us.”

“Real funny. Okay, wait…is this him?”

A blue-just blue-car drives down the street. From their position in the park, the two aren’t able to make out the driver.

“Nah, Johnny said it was a blue car. A blue car.”

“That was fucking blue.”

“No, that was royal blue. Not blue. There’s more then one blue.”

“’…more then one blue.’ What a country,” Sam takes a moment to appreciate the red, white, and blue; and then: “Lemme see the note again.”

“No.”

“Whadda mean, ‘no’?”

“Look, it’s not as complicated as the blue/royal blue concept. You asked, I said no.”

“You got a real attitude problem, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Just bad people skills, is all. Bad people skills.” Sam takes a drag off his cigarette. Looking off towards the bank’s front entrance, he says, “Why not?”

“’Why not’, what?”

“Why can’t I look at the note again?”

“Cause you just ate a Hershey’s bar, and you’ve got chocolate all over you fingers. What do you wanna do, hand the teller a note with chocolate fingerprints all over it?”

“Good point.”

“Fucking a-right, good point.”

The two would-be bandits stare off towards the bank from their park bench, doing their damnest to look unsuspecting-and failing miserably-when Frank’s coat starts ringing.

“It’s your phone,” says Sam.

“Ya think?” Frank snaps back, reaching into his coat pocket.

“Bad people skills...” Sam’s words trail off as Frank answers his phone.

“Yeah? What? You’re fucking kidding, right? Goddamn it, Johnny. Okay…okay, relax. Gimme the name...‘Saint Mary and Joseph Medical’, okay; got it. What about…? Fucking Asians; a fucking menace…Us? We’re in the damn park, waiting for you! …a fucking menace; yea I know. Okay...okay, we will; just sit tight.” Frank flips his cell-phone, cutting the call off.

“Who was that?”

“Didn’t you hear me say, ‘Johnny’?”

“Well, I was not trying to pay attention. I respect other people’s privacy.”

It’s at this point when Frank thinks about braking Sam’s neck; and Sam knows it. Birds chirp for a moment. Then: “It was Johnny,” Frank waits, continuing the stare. “He got into a car accident on Highland Ave. He says the light was green, but it probably wasn’t. Some fucking chink slammed into his driver side door…” Frank is cut off by Sam who says, “Asian-American.”

Frank stares on. One might mistake the look for disbelief, but in fact, Frank would believe just about anything could and would come out of Sam’s mouth as long as it had the ability to piss him off.

“What did you just say?” Frank asks.

“I said…” It’s at this time that Sam makes a very wise decision involving his future. “…which hospital is he at?”

“Saint Mary and Joseph; we gotta go pick him up. Johnny says he broke his leg, but he doesn’t want to stay there overnight. He’s got a thing about hospitals. We gotta go try to pick him up.”

“OK then.” Sam stands up from the bench. With one last look towards the bank’s front entrance he says: “I guess we could take the bank after Johnny gets better.”

Frank stands up, looks at his friend, and then makes a very wise decision involving his future.

“Fuck it, I’m getting a job.”

A Visit to Craig's List.

2005-12-23T00:28:00.000-05:00

"Feed me horsemeat!"

"Let me be your Cum Dump."

"Lunchtime service needed."

"...shoot my cargo."

"...must be discreet."

"...NOT LOOKING TO GET FUCKED!"

"Looking to suck off a hot, hung, married guy at my place sometime soon before lunch..."

"Are you into it? I'll give you a glass of warm chocolate milk and start off nice."

"Any guys want their NUT SACK SERVICED 100% left to right?" Not right to left. Left to right only, people.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ...bitch."

"Come rape my ass please!!!!!!"

Poetic Afterlife.

2005-12-21T00:00:00.000-05:00

Are you the type of person that keeps things in shoeboxes? Newspaper clippings, old childhood report cards, old birthday cards from your Granny, etc. What do you think of when you flip thorough it? And do you flip through it? Probably not often. Maybe you've never flipped through it. It will sit there and gather dust until you add to it. Or move. You have to go through all your things when you move; leaving no shoebox unturned. So when you do end up moving, you'll open the shoebox and glance at the past. but what then? Will you be strong enough to move on, and throw the box away? Will a guilt you shouldn't feel keep you from getting rid of it?

When we die, we don't go to heaven. Hell isn't a stop on that train. We go to our shoeboxes.

Fic: The Fear

2005-12-20T23:08:00.000-05:00

The Fear

Lying in bed, looking over the body next to me. The warm, living, giving, being that has chosen to give their night to me. To us. He just exists next to me, and I haven’t felt this good in years. It feels so powerful, stronger than any cross, any prayer, any church, stronger than anything. The sheet moves with the steady flow of his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. It’s the only force of nature I know. I’m staring at the end all be all; the bearded smile of God, and it’s all just two feet away. Inhale. Exhale. Moonlight from the window gives the details of his face in a light no Hollywood magic could ever match. Then the fear grabs me by the throat and shakes me into submission. If I look away, he’ll disappear. It’s all just a mirage. A figment of my twisted ever-teasing imagination; kept alive by the steady flow of eye-contact. A fool’s gold like no other. It takes a force stronger then anything I’ve believed myself to own to keep me from touching him, inciting a nighttime grown or moan to prove the mirage to be true.

The fear passes; reality washes over me, and I’m content again. Bliss. It's the first drag off a cigarette after ten years of clean air and bubble gum. The garden of sweet apples and lying snakes. Paradise. I finally allow myself to lean back and let my head hit the pillow. After a time I drift into sleep. Before I do, a dare to the sea of dreams escapes my lips.

“Top this.”

3.

2005-12-16T22:55:00.000-05:00

Having a pretty good night. But you don’t care about that, do you? You’re out for blood. Take a bite of that hamburger and hear the drip drip drip on your plate. Well done? Fucking a right, well done.

Went to rent these two DVDs earlier (which ones? Doesn’t matter.) and I got to thinking as I wandered in the cold…wait. No. That’s bullshit. I mean I did go rent two DVDs but nothing really struck me as I walked. I wasn’t thinking about anything special. I just tried to use that line as some stepping stone to some…thing that I could talk about with you. Wow. I almost let myself get away with that one. You never would have known. I could have go on and on about some worthless subject like…eternal love; and you would have been none the wiser. You would have read it (or not, if you’re like most people) and continued on your way to some stupid online video of a kid slapping his friend with a fish. Or perhaps porn is on the menu. Some delightful video of a guy urinating in a glass and pouring it down the throat of some sleeping poodle. Date rape bone; gets them every time.

I was going to lie to you. But I didn’t. Big wow.

I wonder what I was going to lie about. I really don’t know. Like most times in this fecal-filled existence; I was just going to wing it. Now I’m curious. Shit. Ah well.

Off I go to watch the video of some kid slapping his friend with a dead dog that used to be a pornstar.

Merry Go Fuck Yourself.

2005-12-12T14:32:00.000-05:00

Just watched a newstory about a library in New Jersey that has switched their traditional "Christmas Card" greeting from "Merry Christmas" to "Seasons Readings."

Now people, it's OK to take sides. That's what humans are famous for. Taking sides. But please, as hard as it is to do so, don't lose your logic. Of course not everyone is capable of that. And one fat pig they "interviewed" for the story; was not. She was standing in front of a plate that read "Catholic Readings" so right away you get ready to hear some nonsense come out of the hold in her face. You don't have to wait long.

"This change brings about a dumbing down of Christmas."

A dumbing down of Christmas. A dumbing down of a holiday that is based heavily about an obese man with a long white bread and a red suit, sliding down the chimneys of every child in the world, leaving little presents-Assuming they've been good of course. If not, he leaves coal.-under their big lit up tree, and then making his way to the next house in his sleigh that is powered by twelve flying reindeer.

Now how the fuck can you dumb that down anymore?

Imply that the reindeer are polish?

2.

2005-12-12T14:29:00.000-05:00

The family gathering went pretty much how I figured it would.

On the drive over, my Mother, Aunt, and Grandmother talked all about how much they disliked some people and their actions.

Once we arrived, they all smiled and chatted with the people they dislike.

On the drive home they talked about all the new things they hated about the people they dislike.

And somewhere in there I consumed a lot of little hotdog wieners-"pigs in a blanket" I believe they're called- and mixed beer and wine. I whole heartedly recommend both.

Headline.

2005-12-11T18:18:00.000-05:00

"Sam Silly Found Dead In Hotel Room"

1.

2005-12-10T08:51:00.000-05:00

Went for a walk last night. One of those dreadful "thoughtful" walks that get you thinking about all you're doing wrong. Waves those smelling salts under your nose and slaps you on the ass before you can even get your eyes open.

This is one of the bastard children that walk has spawned. A more direct outline of me. Not some self-serving blog where I ramble on and on about how much my boyfriend loves me (or says he does), not some bullshit "well I've got to leave that out cause that'd make me look bad" jumble of lies either. No journal-diary-blog-captains log-whatever should ever be bashful. It's truthful look at it's author should feel like the sting and hurt you get from the first snowball to the face in a fresh winter. If I look back on this in a month, a year, and cringe; then I know I've gotten it right.

Getting ready for a family gathering soon. Mother's side of the family. Due to "scheduling problems" with everyone, we're going to celebrate Christmas today. On the tenth. Hell, if the Catholic church can move around Jesus' birthday like a pawn on a chessboard; then so can we dammit. My mother's side of the family is the only side of the family I'm really close to. And by "really close" I mean I can't stand most of them. My cousins-all of them younger then me-are the only ones I can bare to be around for an extended period of time. Though that is coming to an end soon. They will be getting to the point of what I like to call "extreme self-awareness" soon. Basically they have opened the hatch and will begin to fill with bullshit any moment. Perhaps one or two of them will find a way to get past it a little. As much as anyone can, at least. But for the most part, they will become their parents. Considering that 90 percent of their parents are fully employed I guess one could say that's not such a bad thing. Personally, I think it's awful. Divorced, debt-ridden, coked out, depressed, unhealthily, snotty, unloving; these things I wish my cousins could be spared from. The things we all step in. But it won't happen. They'll get caught up somewhere along the line. In this race-human that is-nobodies shoes are clean of dog-shit.

I may have to get drunk to get through this day.

Fic: Description.

2005-12-09T14:25:00.000-05:00

Description

She was so small. Tiny. Yet compact as she was, her beauty was large and looming. You could protect yourself from the burning sun in the shade it produced. Compact yes; but not to be overlooked. Not by anyone.

She had dark hair that hung past her waist; when she walked it flowed behind her like the chains of a Christmas ghost, one you could never forget; no matter how hard to you tired. Her pain was out in the open for all to see. It was too perfect to be hidden in some deep dark corner of the heart. She was too perfect. Her hair flowed when she walked, the chains rattling, calling to you to reach out and protect her from the world. She gave off the feeling of being too fragile to be left alone in the world’s ugly embrace. An angel with butterfly wings, living to tease with beauty.

She soured.

Fic: Bus Stop

2005-12-01T19:43:00.000-05:00

Bus Stop

I was standing at the bus stop waiting for the bus with my friend Roger when I realized that I hadn’t eaten tuna since I was twelve years old. Thirty seven now, a total of twenty five years since I’d had tuna. I thought this was pretty odd. How had I done it? I wasn’t trying to avoid tuna or anything, it just hadn’t come up. No tuna. This needed light shined upon it. So I tell my friend Roger that I hadn’t eaten tuna in twenty five years. He paused a second then asked me if I was gay. This I found even odder then the not having eaten tuna in twenty five years thing. I asked him how the hell he could ever get to “are you gay” from not eating tuna in twenty five years.

“Clearly there was something wrong with your math on this one,” I said.

He called me a “fag” and walked away. Alone I was, standing at the bus-stop questioning my existence and my choice of friends; when an old woman tugged on the back of my jacket.

“I couldn’t help overhearing, son. I just wanted to tell you, that it’s ok. I never liked tuna either.” She said.

I was going to explain that I don’t even remember liking or not liking tuna; when the bus arrived. She made her way on, and I didn’t move. The driver barely cast a glance at me before shutting the door and pulling away. A funny thought kept me from getting on the bus: There is no tuna, only cock.

I was still giggling when the next bus arrived. I wonder what Roger is doing for lunch tomorrow.

Sunday.

2005-11-27T12:45:00.000-05:00

We have a Sunday, but no Moonday.

What's more romantic, the sun or the moon? Sundance or Moondance? Just ask Van Morrison. Why the bias? Sure the Sun keeps us warm, tanned, and rich in all other earthly needs; but come on. Have you ever stared at the Sun for ten seconds? If so, you can't read these whiny words cause you're fuckin' blind. Who does this fucking Sun thing he's dealing with? Granted, we are a sub-species by any measure, but that's no reason to float around in space acting superior. So superior in fact are eyes aren't even "worthy" enough to gaze upon your bright beautiful form. Fucking sun. So arrogant. Almost as bad as the dolphins.

Tonight, look at the Moon. Go ahead and stare away. No troubles there, the Moon welcomes it. So kind, gentle and thoughtful; our Moon. Sure it may not be able to give you that tan that the beauty magazines tell you that you need, help you grow those juicy tomatoes, or power your calulator; but hey. You can't have it all.

Another thing the moon can't give you: skin cancer.

The Moon is like Canada. Sure, it's not the superpower that the U.S.A is, but it has many good points, and would be missed far more then you think.

Monday? That's a double on the "o" from now on.

"Ah, the usual."

2005-11-26T18:18:00.000-05:00

Gotta turn a phase. Gotta pump that water. Thirsty as a motherfucker. Allow me to peruse the library of your soul-open up all the books and inhale your pages.

Cigarettes are needed for this mission. Blood in the veins, smoke in the lungs, lies on the tongue; locked and loaded and off we go.

If Jesus came back, shaved his bread and made a hairpiece out of it, would you buy it and wear it down and around. To the bakery and to the opera? To church? Would you stand on the pew and scream:"Blood and body? Simple wine and crackers, I've got follicle produce here!"

I would.

I know what you're thinking. Who does this boy think he is? He's going on like he's walking around with a big milk chocolate chip cookie in his pocket.

Well I'll tell you who I am. I'm a boy with nothing else to do. And that makes me dangerous. And that makes me rich in population.

The revolt is coming. And it shall be lead by the boring, the mundane, the dull, the "wasteful", and all the other boys and girls who see this place for what it is.

A target.

Smiles.

Ashamed.

2005-11-21T20:14:00.000-05:00

It's so funny. Right now I am sitting here actually mad cause of this $400 videogame system (that I don't need and frankly don't really want it beyond the "gotta get it-new toy" itch) is coming out to massive shortages, and that I won't be able to get one. What the fuck is wrong with me? No matter what I think/feel I guess I really can't beat the American in me.

2005-11-16T20:01:00.000-05:00

Bikini girls with machine guns. Bikini girls with machine guns.

Fucking thing.

I hate my father cause I love him so much.

He is a zombie. A ghost which isn't friendly at all. Casper, who?

I need a cigarette and more music.

Just threw a CD and yelled at my mother for something that wasn’t her fault.

If I listen to Van Morrison right now, I’m done for.

Shit. Shit with an e. Shite.

Guy is walking down the street. He feels a chill run up his spine. His upstairs neighbor fell asleep with a cigarette in her hand. Her apartment is on fire. Heat reaches down across the building, a cancer of brick and paint. Guy pulls his coat tighter around himself. His front window cracks and breaks under the weight of the fire. His dog starts barking. Upstairs, his neighbor chokes to death on the smoke, thinking lastly of her plants, which she forgot to water today. Guy quickens his step, toward his home. Sanctuary. Guy's dog is running like mad. Going nowhere. Bark bark. Guy is freezing now. Running now. Scared now. Somethings wrong. Bark Bark. Guy's dog dies thinking about escape. One of the few understandings humans and beasts share. Humans and beasts. There's a difference?

Guy hears the fire before he sees it. Right as he is about to turn the corner, he hears the crackle. Burning in stereo. Slowing down his step, fully aware everything he owned was dying, he turns the corner.

Guy thinks of marshmallows.

This being Monday.

2005-11-14T19:29:00.000-05:00

Had an ok day.

Steven came over and spent the night last night. I think we might be going past "just seeing each other" to something more. Something bigger. Something involving little dovey words, and sappy looks. Who knows?

Tired. More so then I've ever been in my life-this last past week. I wonder if there's something wrong with me? That's a lie actually. I don't wonder at all.

Smoking again.

More to come. Till then, you decide if that's a good thing or not.

Letter.

2005-11-12T12:11:00.000-05:00

To Whom It May Concern,

Fuck you.

Sincerely, Me.

The Baker's Thoughts.

2005-11-06T19:49:00.000-05:00

The Baker’s Thoughts

Pre-heat the oven for 350 degrees. Gotta get good and hot in there. Hot for my cake. Ha. I like that. Hot for my cake. Maybe I can use that on Sara. “Hey baby, I’m hot for your cake.” I wonder what she’d say to that. Would she laugh? I wish I knew her better. Wish I knew if she was one of those stuck up broads who can’t laugh at a dirty joke now and again. Great tits, though. Amazing tits. Susan had great tits too, but not as great as Sara’s. Then again, Susan was fun. She wasn’t one of those stuck up broads, that’s for sure. Too bad about the cancer. The bald look isn’t good for her. Looks like she grew another tit on her head. Ha. Ha. Ha. That’s wrong. Why do I think these bad things?

Grab the mixer, mix the butter and sugar for approximately five minutes. Should I get flowers for tonight? How much do roses go for these days? Probably an arm and a leg. For what? They just die in a few days anyways. The cake should be enough. Who doesn’t like cake? Sara said she loved cake. “Chocolate,” she said, “...is my favorite.” The cake will be enough. Sara doesn’t seem like one of those greedy bitches. The kind that expect the world and more. Like Laura. Laura was a greedy bitch. Can’t believe she actually expected me to pay for the ring and dinner. You give a girl a fourteen karot ring; you’d think she’d pick up the check for dinner. Fucking greed. I hate it.

Add the eggs, flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and vanilla extract. Mix well. Oh boy; this is gonna be a good one. One of my best. I can see it now. I’ll serve the cake after dinner, she’ll smile-gotta great smile-and then I’ll cut her a piece. Should I put it on a plate, or hold it and go right to her mouth? It’s sexier going right to her lips with the chocolate. I hope she blows me tonight.

Divide into two portions, and then transfer to the cake tins. Bake at three-hundred and fifty degrees for about forty minutes. Wonder what Sam meant when he said I should try a different barber? Was he trying to say my hair looks bad? I bet he was. He’s always been a sneaky fuck like that. Could never just come right out and insult a person like any other decent human being. My hair is fine. Phillip does a great job with my hair. Plus he’s one of the only straight barbers in town. I refuse to go to some fag to get my haircut. What if he tries to come on to me while he’s cutting my hair? I couldn’t deal with that. Well, it probably would happen that way. He’ll get all faggy on me, and then wouldn’t be able to pay attention to my hair. After all, I am handsome. Go to the bath room. Fucking Sam. Ah, look see; nothing wrong with my hair. I don’t care what they say, the comb-over still works, if you know how to do it. I wonder if I’m gay.

For the frosting, mix butter, chopped chocolate, syrup and coffee, and heat in a double boiler till melted. Stir until smooth. Let it cool in the fridge. Take the cake out of the oven, and apply the frosting around the cake, covering it totally. Boxers or briefs? Or should I go commando? I wonder what Sara likes. Should have asked. Commando would work, but I may get hard at the wrong time, and she’d see. Probably think my dick is small too. Stupid broad. Just have to see it in the right light is all. I have a fine dick. Briefs. Definitely briefs.

Cool the cake in the fridge to harden the frosting. Place the cake in room temperature for about two hours before serving. Should have gotten flowers. Shit, too late now. Cake looks good though. All set for Sara. She’ll like it. I can tell. Shower, shave, fix the hair, and then it should right about that time. Ok. Time to get to it. I really hope she blows me tonight.

New Digs.

2005-10-24T15:33:00.000-04:00

This would be the first of the "new" stuff.

Packing up my "previously-recorded journal" and storing it away for those nights of lonely thoughts and multicolored pants.

Lets hope the roof doesn't fall in on me.

More to come.